


That One Night in An Empty Pub...

by alyxpoe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, But here you go, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP--, actually on second thought a teeny bit of plot, john topping from the bottom, men kissing, oops not even sure if two grown men on a pool table would work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John plus Sherlock plus Pool Table. That's it, guys, smut. Consider it an early Red Pants Monday gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Night in An Empty Pub...

In the odd light, green eyes lightened to quartz and sapphires with arousal pierce into his soul. What began as a small flicker of desire has been fanned and is slowly becoming a blaze that settles in the pit of his stomach. There’s a large hand, long deft fingers gently unbuttoning his shirt but yanking it off and tossing it to who knows where. The pub around them is dark, there’s no one to see and John is more than thrilled that they don’t have to wait another second. John Watson wants.

Sherlock steps in closer, both hands now on his thighs, pushing him off the ridged edge of the pool table and farther into the center. As he moves John’s body backwards, he tugs off jeans and scarlet pants along with it so that John is left almost naked under the swinging light over the table: sitting on the soft green felt in nothing but a black button-down hanging off his shoulders, eyes tracking every movement the detective makes.

“Yes,” he whisper/growls into the space between them.

A predatory grin spreads over Sherlock’s face as he slowly runs one hand down his abdomen, fingertips catching on the fine, dark hair there beneath the purple silk he’s not even bothered to unbutton: its rucked up, surely wrinkled beyond repair.

Though neither man can see much of anything at this point besides each other. There’s a small bead of sweat that begun life on Sherlock’s hairline and is slowly winding its way down the side of his face. John leans forward and drags his tongue from the point of Sherlock’s jaw in order to meet the little salty droplet. Sherlock makes a sound that could be a purr or a whimper and cocks his head to the right and tilts his chin, giving John all the space he needs to swipe that hot, wiggly tongue against the lobe of his ear.

Very gently, John undoes the silver hoop hanging there without ever using his fingers. Sherlock makes out a soft _ffft_ sound as John spits the earring out onto the felt and grins back, his eyes raking over Sherlock, from his hairline to the tight leather trousers that are somehow still zipped and buttoned. Carefully, John pinches the zipper tab and pulls it down with agonizing slowness.

“Now,” Sherlock attempts to demand, but his voice is so deep and raspy that it comes out sounding to John more like a plea.

Instantly, John stops moving and lays his palm over the bulge, feeling heat through the leather. Sherlock makes another sound deep in his throat and leans forward, balancing on his hands so that his forehead rests on John’s shoulder. Copying his lover, he licks John’s jaw then pulls back with a small frown.

“Stubble,” he informs John as if John didn’t already know.

In a single movement, John arches his back, bringing his legs up to Sherlock’s waist and locking his ankles together over the supple leather, effectively pulling Sherlock down to him. He lets himself fall back down on the table, dragging his hard cock over the front of Sherlock’s trousers as he does so. Sherlock gasps almost silently and shifts so that his hands are now flat on the table on either side of John’s shoulders. John ducks his head and plants tiny, soft nips against the skin of Sherlock’s neck wherever he’s able to reach, talking between each one.

“You…said…I…had…to…look…the…part,” John says.

Sherlock suppresses another shudder. Seeing John dismount that motorbike at half past five this afternoon almost shook his concentration on the case. In fact, the image of John pulling the glossy black helmet off his head, ruffled-up blonde hair peeking up underneath, then the way he popped sunglasses out of his front pocket and onto his face…

Almost makes him forget where he’s at currently. “You did, splendidly,” he offers, his eyes falling on a pair of heavy black boots on the floor beside them, until John’s fingers on his jaw draw his attention back to the virtually naked and waiting man caged beneath him. On the pool table. Sherlock is forced to shift his weight to one hand now, resting the other one against his crotch. “And the way you took Jonas down…God, John, I could have had you right there.”

John chuckles, intentionally flexing his calves, enjoying the feel of the buttery soft leather against the inside of his legs. Sherlock groans again, this time less quietly. “Bloody mouth of yours ought to be illegal,” he mutters as that mouth latches onto one nipple, tonguing it just a little on this side of too rough, then switches to the other and continues on down. Finally, he puts his lips together and just breathes on the tip of John’s cock.

“Nice,” John mumbles, the end of the word cut off in a longer sound as Sherlock swallows him down. John’s head swims and there it is, the orgasm that’s been threatening to overtake him since six o’clock this morning, when he was awoken by a Sherlock's legs and perfect arse encased in tight black leather, silk purple shirt opened almost to his belly button, a silver hoop in his ear and kohl around his eyes.

“Sherlock…Sherlock stop,” he grits out, almost regretting the words, but this isn’t how they agreed this would end. Pulling off with a hint of teeth, not enough to cause pain, only enough for John to feel the danger he’s put himself into, Sherlock resumes his original position, only this time he rests his hands on John’s thighs.

“Tell me,” he orders softly.

“Sherlock, you are going to fuck me within an inch of your life.” John inhales sharply as Sherlock’s fingertips rub against his perineum, palms brushing his sac with the utmost care. He laughs and throws his head back, spreading his legs wider. He doesn’t miss the way Sherlock’s eyes grow impossibly darker.

“You…when did you?” His eyes go from John’s slick hole to his face and back again.

“Hmmm…when I took a break while you waited for Greg to finish arresting Jonas.”

“Christ, John…” Sherlock breathes, his eyes now on the tip of his finger as it slips into John’s willing, waiting body.

“Sherlock…” John warns, reaching down and squeezing the base of his cock.

Sherlock dips his head and licks at John’s fingers, tongue teasing at the hard flesh in between them. John’s heels slip some against the slick leather of his trousers and Sherlock moves, mouth kissing John softly but with an edge of hunger. John uses the side of his foot to caress Sherlock’s hip then delicately presses the bottoms of his toes against Sherlock’s cock, an electric sizzle lighting up his nerve endings when his skin comes into contact with a damp patch on the leather. That, even more than the insistent fingers teasing his hole, lets him know just how ready he really is.

“Oh, you bad, bad man,” John says, grinning when Sherlock pulls away, panting softly. John takes a second to regroup, get himself back under control and think about how ridiculous they must look: two mostly-naked grown men in the middle of darkened pub with only the light of the pool table they’re about to fuck like rabbits on illuminating the room around them. John figures the light isn’t doing anything for him, yet it is bringing out the deep red and raven blue highlights in Sherlock’s curls. Because he can, John winds his fingers in the wild ones at the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulls hard enough to bring Sherlock’s mouth back into plundering distance again.

When the fingering almost pushes him over the edge one last time and he decides that he can’t take it anymore, he nudges Sherlock’s shoulders with his hands then slips them down to finish undoing the zipper on Sherlock’s leather trousers. The position is a bit awkward, but he manages to do it without pulling out any pubic hairs or hurting either one of them. Sherlock exhales at the feeling of the cool air and John’s palm on his dick simultaneously. John strokes him three times, tightening his fist with every stroke.

John knows how close Sherlock is even before the side of his hand comes into contact with Sherlock’s tight balls; he’s more than ready to end this night and go home and collapse for about thirty hours. But, a promise is a promise and since Sherlock’s been more than accommodating about John’s little fantasies, he’s keen to give some of that back.

And, seriously? With this gorgeous creature trembling with desire between his legs? It is quite possible that John got the better end of the deal. “How are you doing?” he whispers, gripping Sherlock’s jaw in order to look him in the eye.

“Oh, John, it’s already better than in my head,” Sherlock tells him honestly, voice dark and syrupy with lust.

John nods, gasping as those long fingers slip out of his body. Sherlock pushes his trousers down off his hips, leaving enough of the leather for John to feel against the backs of his naked thighs, but making sure the zipper’s dangerous teeth are out of the way. He lines himself up and takes his time sliding in, enjoying every single second of the drag of overheated, hard skin against slick, smooth, quivering muscle.

“I’m not going to last much longer…” John warns, meeting each of Sherlock’s thrusts with his own. The pool table only sways slightly.

Sherlock grasps John’s hips, effectively using the leverage in order to impale him with every thrust. John’s eyes are closed, his head is tilted back and his legs are shaking. He’s got hold of his own cock now, stroking himself firmly.

“John, now. Now John,” Sherlock slows his pace, making his thrusts shallower, giving John what he needs to make his orgasm that much more intense. John comes quickly then, sinking his teeth into Sherlock’s pectoral as his semen spurts between them. Sherlock growls this time, taking the bite as permission to haul John upward until he’s almost completely off the pool table and Sherlock pounds into him, chasing an orgasm he’s sure is going to knock him out cold.

In the end, though, he doesn’t pass out, even when John tightens every muscle in his body, knowing all too well the signs of his lover’s climax. Sherlock moans into John’s neck as John’s body wrings every last bit of pleasure from every cell in his own. He slumps forward, somehow managing to remember not to fall too hard and mash John into the table.

They stay that way, both men panting and waiting for their senses to return. John starts to giggle, a high-pitched, delighted sound as he cradles Sherlock’s head in his hands. He knows that they need to get up and get home, but right now he wants to bask in the joy of the depth of the emotion that they have for each other.


End file.
